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The last Christmas we got to spend with her was definitely the hardest, but we tried to make the most of it. Rachel was weak and tired. She spent more time in bed than she did out of it, but she still had a smile on her face.
She was pregnant with Cora, and we had just received her cancer diagnosis. There was very little that her doctors could do to treat the cancer while she was pregnant, so all we could do was wait and see what happened after the baby was born.
But by then it was too late. The cancer had spread throughout her body and completely taken over. She decided to forgo treatments that would have only prolonged the inevitable, and enjoy what little time she had left with me and our two perfect daughters.
When she passed, Cora was just 12 weeks old, and Laila was approaching her second birthday. I never knew how much grief one person could handle until I had to watch my wife suffer and die. I thought there was no way I was going to make it through those first few months, but three years later, I was somehow still standing and surviving each day.
As Christmas approached that year, I knew there was no way I could pull out the decorations. That was Rachel’s realm, and I didn’t dare try to intrude on something she loved so much. I attempted to make gingerbread cookies for the girls, but they turned out as solid as a rock. When I wrapped the presents I bought, it never looked as nice as Rachel’s did, and I had no idea how she made such perfect bows on the top of each box.
We needed to get out of the house and go as far away as possible for as long as possible. That first year, we spent the entire month of December in Australia. Though it was Christmastime there, too, the fact that it was summer made everything feel a bit less Christmassy and sad.
Since then, we have spent Christmas in Fiji, Maldives, and Bali. Each year, trying to find somewhere warm and tropical to spend the holiday and escape the winter depression that New York City inevitably sent me into each year.
This year, however, I decided it was time to do something different. The truth of the matter was, Laila and Cora would have very limited memories of their mother, if any at all. I shouldn’t deprive them of a magical Christmastime just because of my memories associated with the holiday.
I still wasn’t ready to stay home, but I was ready to have a white Christmas and do all of the special things that came with it. So, I booked a trip to a small skiing town in Switzerland and never looked back.
I peeledmyself off the bed and decided it was finally time to start packing my bag. I looked at my watch and realized I had less than 10 hours until we had to be at the airport, and half of that time would surely be spent trying to get the girls out the door.
There was a knock on the bedroom door, and when I opened it, I was surprised to see my housekeeper standing on the other side.
“Elaine? What are you still doing here? It’s late.”
“Well, I was on my way out, but I saw your skiing gear scattered down the hallway,” she said, her arms full of my belongings.
“Oh, right. I meant to go pick those up.”
“I hope you enjoy your vacation. You’re going to have a wonderful time.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly as I started to take my things from her.
“Pardon my intrusion, but is everything okay, Mr. Anderson.”
“Yes—um—you know, this is just a hard time of year.”
She nodded her head sympathetically. She had been working for me since I bought the apartment ten years ago, just after Rachel and I got married. She saw first-hand how rapidly she declined, and how her death broke me.
“She wants you to be happy, you know.”
“I know.”
“Try to enjoy your time with your lovely daughters. They need you.”
“I know they do.”
“Can I assist you with anything tonight?”
“No, Elaine. Go home and get some rest. Thank you for everything.”
She smiled as she turned around and disappeared down the hallway. I knew she was right, but it was nearly impossible to enjoy this time of year without feeling like I was forgetting Rachel and the insurmountable joy she brought to my life.
After finally gettingmy bag packed and making sure we had everything we needed for a long day of travel, I crawled into bed, knowing it was going to be a rough day tomorrow. Even with Beth’s help, traveling with a five-year-old and a three-year-old was never easy.
I rolled over and gazed at the picture of our family on the wall next to the bed. It was taken on Christmas morning, the first year after Rachel and I were married. Her red hair looked even more fiery than it had in person, and every time I saw a photo, I was so glad Laila had inherited her mother’s hair. I never wanted to forget the exact shade of red.
We had the smiles of two people who thought life would be that simple forever. We were young and in love, and it seemed nothing in the world could bring us down.
We were standing in front of our 12-foot-tall Christmas tree, the one Rachel insisted we travel upstate to chop down ourselves. There had been a terrible storm a few days prior, but she still insisted we go. We trekked through feet of snow to find the perfect tree, and it was not an easy task. She had high standards, and she wasn’t going to rest until we found one that was full on every side, tall but not too tall, and had the right “aura” as she put it.
